


what a wonderful world

by tagteamme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: As making any genuinely good jokes is off brand for me, Bad Humor, Canon without the shitty parts, Carnival, Carnival Games, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Kissing Booths, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, Public Display of Affection, Sheithlentines 2019, They love each other very very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tagteamme/pseuds/tagteamme
Summary: Shiro pulls rank and makes everyone attend a festival. It's part so that they can all relax, but mostly so that he can take Keith out.“We’re on Nazard,” Shiro says. “They’re having a festival.”“And we’re patrolling?” Keith and Pidge ask in unison, while Hunk crosses his arms over his chest.“Your boyfriend’s making us land so that he can take you out on a date,” Lance supplies helpfully, and Shiro’s ears start to heat up. “Gonna be hard to kiss on the love-boat if you keep your helmet on.”“There are no loveboats,” Shiro cuts in for the sake of cutting in and stopping Lance from speaking any further. “I think."





	what a wonderful world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmicpenguinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpenguinn/gifts).



> Merry Valentines Kelly!!! I loved your prompts-- so sorry this is late, I had a lot of fun writing it though and your prompts were so charming ;_;

 

It's late into their sleep cycle but Shiro’s still awake, propped up against the wall behind his head and flicking aimlessly through his datapad. There’s no real work to be done— he’s just a little wired. They’ve left the Atlas behind on Earth, and Shiro’s been tagging along in the black lion with its paladin. They’ve towed along a Galra fighter jet in the hangar, just in case they have one of those days.

Today was one of those days. The team is currently on a medium-haul supply run, but had gotten ambushed earlier in the day. The skirmish was short and they got rid of the threat quickly and efficiently. But Shiro’s brain is still buzzing from co-piloting in Black before splitting off into the jet and propelling himself towards the core of the mining ship-turned-warcraft. If he can’t go to sleep in a few more minutes, he’s going to go extract himself from bed and make himself useful by trying to look ahead on the supply route. For now, he sits in the low green glow of the bedroom scrolling through piles of data that don’t actually hold any importance.

He reads a long message from the planet they’re delivering supplies to. They’re still eagerly awaiting and have asked if they should send out manpower to escort Voltron the rest of the way. Shiro thanks them and declines politely, as had been decided by the entire team, and tells them Voltron will be fine. The planet is a tiny rock with their resources stretched paper-thin, and Shiro’s pretty sure they got rid of the last of the rogue cruisers. He’s just hitting send when he gets a little alert in the corner of the screen, and opens up a message from Matt.

It’s a picture of Pip, a robot that’s barely passable as humanoid, let alone a functioning robot.  Pidge had gotten frustrated with the project and had dumped it on Matt, who was more than happy to use it to terrorize others. It looks like Matt’s put it in a general’s uniform and has positioned it so that it looks out the window of one building and directly into the window of Iverson’s office. He’s also tacked masking tape across its face and stuck a poorly cut out white triangle-shaped piece of paper on its forehead. Shiro snorts at the picture.

He’s about to send a picture back of the most unimpressed look he can muster when Shiro catches the timestamp on the picture. It’s stamped with Earth’s date and Shiro draws the tablet closer to squint at it. He lets out a short laugh when he sees the timestamp.

Beside him, Keith mutters something in his sleep and shifts. He’s got his head partially on Shiro’s lap, and there’s a small patch of drool forming on Shiro’s sleeping clothes. Shiro runs a hand through thick, dark hair as he looks at the date, and then looks at the man who’s currently a warm and solid presence beside him. Keith makes a content sound as Shiro scratches his scalp idly, still very much asleep.

They work together, travel the universe together, fight whatever trouble rears its head together, and spend a good amount of their free time together. It’s both charmed and comfortable and after saving each other’s lives a few times, grand gestures aren’t really something they see as a requirement. Still, Keith makes happiness drip in him warm and slow like molasses with the unending way that he loves Shiro.

At the very least, Shiro thinks Keith deserves a nice date. They don’t do that a lot, not outright anyways. If the time stamp’s right though, now would be a great time to start. Shiro pulls up another screen on his datapad and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

“You want us to do what now?” Lance frowns at Shiro from across their communal dinner table. They’ve been using Black as a meet up point since the Atlas has been grounded, and the second iteration of the Castle is still under construction. Hunk’s mirroring Lance’s expression, Allura looks like she’s interested, and Keith and Pidge are trying to slyly do something on Pidge’s datapad and are only paying a fractional amount of attention.

“Land on Nazard,” Shiro repeats himself, even though he’s well aware that that’s not what’s actually being asked. “Only for a few hours.”

“And they requested us,” Hunk says slowly and Shiro shakes his head. “Okay, so why are we going to a brand new planet in the middle of a job?”

“For fun,” Shiro manages to not grit it out. The crew loves to loaft, but they also love to dig their heels in whenever they’re told to relax while they’re technically still in the middle of a job. They’re also probably still a little uptight from the fight, and Shiro doesn’t blame them for it. He does sometimes miss the time when they were more than eager to ditch work for a day. “We’re ahead of schedule, and Nazard is on the way. I think that we deserve a day off.”

Specifically, he thinks that Keith and him deserve a day off and that Keith deserves to have Shiro take him out. Nazard has a festival once every fifty Earth years that’s quite similar to Clear Day, except according to what he was able to pull up on the net, mentioning Clear Day during Nazard’s festival is considered to be extremely poor taste. They’re a planet full of slug-like aliens that are as uppity as they are competitive, and like to outdo their sister planet whenever possible. Shiro’s already given the team the debriefing on the Nazards and the festival, which might in part play to why they’re being so hesitant about it.

Lance and Hunk both give him looks that tell him that they’re not buying it. Long after they landed on Earth, they’ve done nothing but rebuild, repair, revitalize. And while Shiro’s normally the last person to ever consider taking a break, the idea of taking Keith out has planted itself firmly in his brain and refuses to leave. Shiro is three seconds away from pulling rank on the entire crew and telling them that they’re going to go, regardless of whatever they think.

“The Nazards do throw an excellent celebration,” Coran says contemplatively, and Shiro lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He had looked for the nearest interesting thing to do, and from the pictures and information he could find it had seem nice. But a lot of the nooks and crannies of the thousands of alien cultures they cross regularly are still somewhat of a mystery to him.

“I’ve always wanted to go,” Allura pipes in, and looks at Lance. “But we’ve always missed it by a quintant or so.”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Lance blinks, before scraping his chair closer to hers.

Hunk sighs, because if Lance is going then he’s going to have to go. Keith and Pidge have both given up any pretense of paying attention; they’re not trying to hide the fact that they’re trying to play an extremely competitive game of table tennis on Pidge’s tablet. They’ll be fine though— Keith goes wherever Shiro goes, and Pidge goes wherever she feels like going. Shiro thinks about seeing Keith lit in the vibrant pinks and purples and blues of the festival lights, thinks about him laughing and thinks about him pulling Shiro in for a kiss after eating something sticky sweet.

Lance catches Shiro looking and snorts.

“You better give me money for rides,” Lance says, half-joking. But Shiro’s only half listening.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t quite surprise Shiro when he walks into the hangar for Black and sees Keith and Pidge in full paladin gear, while the others mill about in their casual clothes.

“What are we doing?” Keith asks Shiro, and with the way that Lance steps up behind him, Shiro knows they’ve been arguing about orders. He had told Keith in the morning what the plan was for the day before he had left to train, but he’s not quite sure Keith had been fully awake for all of it.

Part of that is maybe probably definitely on Shiro.

“We’re on Nazard,” Shiro says. “They’re having a festival.”

“And we’re patrolling?” Keith and Pidge ask in unison, while Hunk crosses his arms over his chest.

“Your boyfriend’s making us land so that he can take you out on a date,” Lance supplies helpfully, and Shiro’s ears start to heat up. “Gonna be hard to kiss on the love-boat if you keep your helmet on.”

“There are no loveboats,” Shiro cuts in for the sake of cutting in and stopping Lance from speaking any further. “I think. We’re taking the day off today and going to the festival on Nazard.”

“Well,” Pidge says, voice blithe. “That’s my cue to go back to bed.”

“Hey,” Lance says, indignant. “If we’re forced to go, you’ve got to go.”

“I’m not forcing,” Shiro says primly, even though he most definitely is. “I’m just encouraging everyone take a mandatory day off.” He turns to the rest of his team and, “Don’t get into too much trouble. Keep your comms on. We’ll reconvene in twelve hours, and if you’re not back by then, we’re going to look for you.”

They look at him with an amount of impetuousness that he can’t let slide, and Shiro resists the urge to pinch his nose. “That’s an order. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” comes the resounding reply, followed by some grumbling. Allura loops an arm through Pidge’s and says something about food, and Lance and Hunk trail behind them. Coran gives them a short salute before joining the group, and Shiro slides a hand around the crook of Keith’s elbow before he wanders away.

“You should change,” Shiro says. “It’s our day off. I’ll wait for you.”

Keith still doesn’t look like he fully buys it, so Shiro leans and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth.

“Let me take you out,” Shiro says it quietly, even though everyone’s drifted well out of hearing range. A faint pink creeps up Keith’s neck, and Shiro tries to not look too victorious.

 

* * *

 

The festival grounds are large, crowded and vividly lit with neon pinks, purples and blues. The three moons that orbit the planet hang large and bright in the sky, the stars invisible with the amount of light radiating from the celebration. They take a small cruiser from Black and park just off the entrance, and Shiro watches as Keith’s face lights up at the sight. Shiro nudges hi and Keith immemdiately tries to hide it, much to Shiro’s amusement.

“Let’s go see what they have,” he says, leaning in to peck Keith on the cheek. “I want to win you something nice.”

“I’m going to win you something nicer,” Keith says almost instantly and Shiro lets out a surprised yelp when Keith elbows him out of the way to get to the grounds.

“Hey!” he calls out, trying not to grin too goofily as he starts to jog after his man. “That’s not fair!”

Coran was right— the Nazards _do_ throw an excellent celebration.Seeing the festival as they approached from an overlooking hill was one thing; entering the grounds and being hit with a loud barrage of sound and light and all the good food smells ever is a completely different thing.

Shiro and Keith both let out a soft _woah_ when they enter; Shiro hooks his index finger around Keith’s, just so they stay connected in the bustling crowd. There’s different strands of music floating around in the air, and towers and signs for games and attractions that hover high above the crowds. Shiro looks around and quickly loses track of how many species he sees wheel by them, laughing and talking and chittering away.

It’s overwhelming in the best way, and Shiro’s head goes light with excitement. They’ve done a lot of diplomatic visits during various celebrations and events, they’ve been figureheads at parties and fairs, and they’ve definitely infiltrated a few for missions. But they’ve not landed anonymously on a planet and blended into a festival before, not without any secret serious intentions anyways. For the first time in a long time, Shiro feels more carefree, feels tension seep out of him as Keith starts to tug them towards something.

It’s a tall booth, around fifteen feet high. It has to be, because a group of unusually tall bi-bo-bih’s stumble out of it, giggling in a stream of _bi bi bi_ s as they round around the booth. The booth whirs and starts to spit out paper but it’s not till Keith’s dragged them into it that Shiro realizes it’s a photobooth.  They squeeze onto a comfortable cushioned bench, and the screen in front of them whirrs to life, telling them that when they’re ready, the camera will take a series of pictures of them. They just need to indicate when they’re ready.

“How the hell do we do that?” Keith frowns and leans forward, and a large bright flash fills the booth.

While Keith is hands down the most beautiful man he’s ever seen and Shiro can sometimes stand to look at his own reflection for more than a few seconds, their ability to take good photos is unfortunately barely approaching mediocre. All eight images that the booth spits out when they exit come out relatively atrocious. The camera always went off too fast or too slow, catching them mid-blink, mid-sentence and mid-kiss.

The last one has some potential, but Shiro had opened his eye to check if the camera was actually taking a picture. As a result, he looks like a startled lizard while Keith’s smushing his lips against his with all the energy and intent of creating something nice that he can keep in his wallet and look at. They tried though, and Shiro’s going to tuck away these photos and cherish them all the same.

It also turns out that there is a love-boat ride at the fair after all. The line for it is unnecessarily long, and Keith says something about maybe seeing Coran and Shiro makes the executive decision that they don’t need to try out _everything_ that’s there at the festival. There’s what appears to be a large Earth-style roller coaster a few hundred yards away and Shiro pulls Keith towards that ride instead.  It’s nothing compared to being on a lion, but it’s exhilarating nonetheless and Keith insists on getting a print of the picture taken mid-drop just because he says that he finds it amusing that everyone else has their multiple hands up and are screaming while he and Shiro are stone-facing it.

They flit around, trying out as many rides as they can. Some are too crowded, but they manage to make it into the gravity-defying teacups that spin on the air and an upside down carousel filled with mini weblums instead of horses. The fair has a few more earth attractions as well; they try out a UFO ride and Shiro reaches over and  holds Keith’s hand as the centrifugal force of the spinning wheel presses them against the wall of their compartment. They get off the ride but Keith refuses to let go of Shiro, and Shiro manages to pull them beside a booth selling oddly aromatic food so that he can steal a quick kiss from Keith.

On instinct, Shiro keeps it brief. But it’s when Keith slides a hand around the back of his neck to stop him from breaking off the kiss that Shiro comes across a rather pleasant realization; no one here has figured out who they are. They’ve ditched paladin armour for their colour-coded Garrison uniforms and they’ve yet to be stopped by anyone who wants to speak to the leader of Voltron, to the captain of the Atlas, let alone recognizes them as such. No one’s turning around a corner looking for them, and no one’s calling them away to look at something or give advice or move into action.

Keith seems to come across a similar realization because Shiro feels him opening up, feels the slick swipe of a tongue across his bottom lip. No one’s gunning for their attention or squawking because they’ve accidentally walked in on them so Shiro happily goes along, letting Keith deepen the kiss. Shiro cards fingers through Keith’s hair and tilts his head for better access, and can feel Keith smile against his mouth.

“This is fun,” Keith murmurs, breaks off the kiss fully so that he can press his lips against Shiro’s jaw. Between this and the way that Keith’s other hand curls against Shiro’s bicep, Shiro knows Keith’s trying his best to be enticing. And as always, it barely takes any time to work.  “But if everyone’s at this fair, maybe we should sneak back to Black.”

The idea of having time alone without running the risk of one or more of their friends hunting them down for something trivial is extremely appealing to Shiro. They get some time to lounge around uninterrupted and enjoy each other’s company out in the ranch house they’ve built on Keith’s family property, but there’s something different about doing it light years away from home. There’s also something to be said about being in bed with Keith, lit only by the low green light as the sheets tangle between them. Keith nips at Shiro’s bottom lip, and the thought of it is becoming increasingly more appealing.

But.

Shiro’s determined to take Keith around, to take him out on some fun rides and buy him weird food and win him a prize from one of the games. There’s not a lot of unique and special date-exclusive experiences one can have with their soulmate, not when they’ve travelled through universes together, but a festival on an alien planet a few wormhole jumps away from home is one of them. Shiro would love to have nothing between him and his bed but Keith, but he also wants to show Keith a festival that won’t happen for another fifty years. He’ll save kicking out everyone and telling them to leave him and Keith alone for his birthday. It’s only two weeks away anyways.

“I want to see more of this place,” Shiro says, and Keith’s mouth turns downwards. “Hey, come here.”

Shiro is well practised in kissing Keith in a way that he knows will take Keith's breath away. He takes advantage of the fact that no one's noticed them or is looking for them and holds Keith as close as he can. It's good for him too, feeling Keith give in and melt against him and love him back fiercely.

“I don't get to take you out like this,” Shiro says in between kisses, and Keith looks like he's only part listening. “I heard they have this only once every fifty years, we should try to enjoy it.”

“Mm,” Keith replies before trying to chase and capture Shiro's lips again. Shiro lets him, and lets him slide his hands down Shiro's back so that he can give Shiro a playful squeeze. “Fine.”

“Let’s see if I can go win you something nice,” Shiro beams down at Keith, and Keith looks like he’s trying very hard and failing not to smile back at him.

 

* * *

 

“No,” Shiro says firmly. Keith doesn’t listen to him.

Instead, he gently nudges Shiro aside and steps forward and dumps the tokens on the counter. The bored worker hands him what looks like a bright orange water gun, and Shiro eyes the row of prizes sitting against the wall of the stall.

There’s something to be said about seeing a giant plush version of himself stare back with black, beady eyes. Shiro kind of hates the fact that its hair is white; he has seen some dolls from the Voltron show floating around, and he’s been able to pretend they aren’t him because of the black hair. But this one has been updated to include his white hair and IGF Atlas uniform, and Shiro’s not sure that all his feelings about it are positive.

So far, Keith’s been sneaking all the prizes Shiro has been winning him to little kids that haven’t been doing as well in the games or are generally looking like they want to be anywhere but the fair. They’ve shot balls into the mouths of plastic yalmors, picked up searing hot ducks from a pond to see if they’ve won a prize or a second-degree burn, and have spun a wheel that will apparently take another five hours to slow down to a stop. If they’re not there by the time it’s done, the gamekeeper had cheerfully informed them, it can be held over for them till the next celebration.

The biggest thing Shiro’s won for him so far has been a massive stuffed toy that looks like one of Allura’s space mice. Shiro had won it at a high-striker, having used his human hand to bring the mallet down on one side of the lever. The puck hit the bell loud and clear and then some. Shiro tried to not look too smug as the gamekeeper told Keith that he can pick absolutely any of the prizes, and that it had been years since someone’s been able to hit the bell. Keith pointed out that this festival happens once every fifty years so that would be a given, but Shiro stuck out his tongue at Keith and took the compliment anyways.

Shortly after, they had spotted Allura and Lance at another booth and Lance had been trying with all the concentration in the world to toss tetrahedrons of various sizes into their corresponding slots. He looked incredibly frustrated at how poorly the game was going for him, and was so focused on trying to win something big that he didn’t notice Keith and Shiro pawning off the stuffed mouse to Allura. Shiro wishes he could have see the look on Lance’s face when he discovers that the best prize Allura gets all day won’t be one from him, but Keith had started tugging him towards another game, muttering something about it being his turn to win something.

As soon as they came to a halt in front of the stall, Shiro knew exactly why Keith had been moving with such focused determination.

It had been bad enough when the Voltron show had been going on and there had been innumerable amount of embarrassing merchandise with Shiro’s face stamped across from it. Seeing a row of stuffed toys in the shape of him and his friends verges on being extremely disturbing. There’s an Allura and a Hunk sandwiching his stuffed counterpart, and they look significantly cuter. His looks mildly terrifying. And for some reason, the Keith doll’s paladin outfit is a vivid and holographic purple.

Keith is extremely determined to win the Shiro doll. He tells Shiro as much as the gamekeeper presses a button, and a row of two-headed orange ducks pop up. Shiro protests and Keith gives him a wicked half-grin that says he’s going to definitely torture Shiro with this. A conveyor belt whirrs, and the toy ducks start quacking and shifting back and forth as Keith takes aim.

And does exceptionally terribly.

He manages to knock down four ducks out of twenty eight with the orange gun, and wins a pack of gum that tastes like steak. Shiro heaves an inner sigh of relief, because he knows that if Keith wins a Shiro doll, he’s not going to pawn it off to some small alien child. Instead, it’ll sit somewhere ridiculous like on top of their bookshelf back home, surveying everything with its cold dark eyes.

“Again,” Keith says, dropping down tokens. His second attempt goes no better, neither does his third where he knocks down only one duck. By the time he’s about to ask for his fourth, Shiro grabs his elbow.

“I think we should try something else, yeah?” he says, and Keith glares at him. “Maybe another game has the same prize?”

“We’re the only game on the grounds with official Voltron merchandise,” The gamekeeper chirps helpfully from behind him. “If you want, we can stack the points you get in every turn! If you’re really determined to win one of the bigger prizes.”

“How many ducks do I have to knock down for that one?” Keith gestures towards the Shiro, and the gamekeeper gives him a sly look. Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose and tells Keith they should go, but Keith’s already tossing tokens.

On the fourth and fifth try, he gets no ducks at all.

“Keith—” Shiro starts, but Keith elbows him off. He’s got a look of impenetrable determination on his face, and he barks at the gamekeeper to give him another set of pellets. The gamekeeper beams ear-to-ear and happily scrapes the tokens off the counter.

Keith’s a lost cause, and Shiro knows that there isn’t going to be any extracting him till he’s gotten what he wants. There’s no way Shiro’s going to win in this unless he physically picks Keith up and drags him away. And even then, there’s a very high chance that Keith will sling Shiro over a shoulder and jog back to the game.

“Want me to get food?” he asks tentatively around the eleventh turn, because Keith’s so buried in the game that he doesn’t notice his own stomach grumbling loud enough for Shiro to hear. Keith grunts in return, saying nothing as he aims at another duck and shoots.

He knocks it down and crows loudly at the sound of the small bell. The smile he gives Shiro is so big that Shiro feels weak to it; he leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“You’re still eight ducks away,” the gamekeeper says, and that smile vanishes at soon as it came. Shiro resigns himself to the fact that they’re going to be here for a lot, lot longer than he thought. Keith hoists up the orange gun again, and is officially lost to Shiro again.

“I’ll go get it then,” Shiro sighs, even though Keith’s already stopped paying attention.

 

* * *

 

It takes him about twenty minutes but Shiro manages to find something edible; gravity-defying and vividly blue cotton candy that hovers above a cone and is fit for consumption by all species, as the vendor assured him. He also finds something to do that’s interesting enough that he might be able to entice Keith and tear him away from the game with it. Shiro’s started to buzz with the anticipation for it, and he’s eager to get back to Keith.

Unfortunately, it’s also at this time that things start to go a little south because he thinks he might have accidentally lost Keith.

“Keith?” Shiro calls out, looking around. He’s come back to the game that he had left Keith at, but he’s nowhere to be found. There’s a lineup at the game, but no familiar mop of hair, no red and white uniform. He tries to ask the gamekeeper at the stall, but they just raise an eyebrow and go, “who?” before ignoring any further detailed description Shiro tries to give. They pretend that they’ve never seen him in their life, and Shiro tries his best not to blow up at them.

Shiro looks around, scanning the crowd as much as he can, but he can’t find Keith.  A bell goes off behind him; an alien that looks like a fish with pants on has just won one of the bigger prizes, having knocked down twenty seven ducks. They ask for an Allura doll, and Shiro levels the gamekeeper with his best dirty glare.

It’s too noisy and crowded for Shiro to find Keith fast, so he takes out his palm-sized tablet, opens his comms and tries to connect a private line to Keith.

And meets dead air.

“Huh,” Shiro stares at the glowing yellow letters telling him that he’s unable to pick up a line with Keith.

A small amount of concern rears its head in him, but he reasons that Keith’s probably just finally wandered off to find a game that might win him something better and faster. It makes him relax for a fraction of a second before he realizes that historically, this means that Keith is going to sign up for something that is probably going to be significantly more dangerous. Or— maybe not. He looks around and spots the tall neon tower of the high-striker in the distance. It lights up and ring loudly, and Shiro decides to set course for it.

But as he approaches the game from a distance, he can already see that the winner of the high-striker is not Keith. He feels some frustration in him, and continues to look around.

“Keith!” Shiro’s louder this time, causing a few festival-goers to turn around as he starts making his way through the crowd. “Ke- _eith_!”

It’s to no avail, because he can’t spot Keith anywhere. Repeated attempts to reach him on what constitutes as their intergalactic communications system are fruitless, and it’s making Shiro feel just slightly frantic. Keith can more than handle himself, but Shiro managed to rope in something special for them and the anticipation of it turns into nervous energy the longer he goes without finding Keith.

It’s a good fifteen minutes of hunting and asking various people if they’ve seen a dark haired human in a red outfit and a scar before Shiro makes a breakthrough. Or more accurately, he stumbles across one.

“Shiro!” the voice comes from a distance and it’s faint over the din of the celebrations, but the cadence of it is instantly recognizable.

“Keith?” Shiro swivels where he’s standing, trying to find the source of the noise. “Keith!”

“Over here!” Keith yells out again, and Shiro elbows through the crowd, trying to follow Keith’s voice as he cranes his head above everyone else. Keith says his name again, louder, and Shiro hones in on it. He doesn’t hear it again, but he parts through the throngs and follows what he heard with predatory precision. It takes him another few minutes, but he eventually finds Keith.

The first thing Shiro registers is that Keith looks relatively unharmed. At least from a distance. The second thing he registers, which is probably what should have been the _first_ thing Shiro should have noticed, is that Keith’s standing on the inside of what appears to be an enclosed booth. He spots Shiro and waves frantically, and Shiro doesn’t think twice before he breaks out into a sprint towards the stall. There seems to be no windows, but Keith’s mouthing words and Shiro can’t hear him despite the fact that he’s rapidly getting closer.

Until suddenly he’s not.

Shiro chokes as something grabs him by the back of his collar, and immediately whips around on the defense. Shiro’s released and his arm starts to glow as he comes face to face with what looks like a large, green bipedal warthog. They’re wearing a black uniform that’s got a label over the breast that Shiro assumes reads some form of _SECURITY._

“Don’t cut,” they grunt at him, and Shiro drops his hand. The guard crosses two incredibly beefy arms over their chest, and stares down unblinkingly at him.

“Uh,” he says intelligently. “Cut what?”

He gets no response. Shiro starts to step back, but the guard reaches forward and pinches Shiro’s collar between two meaty fingers and stops him. Shiro immediately grabs the wrist, only to find that he can’t quite circle it. And that’s him trying with his _Altean_ arm.

“Back of the line,” the guard says, and Shiro gets a whiff of their breath. It’s oddly pleasant, like fresh fruit, and it makes the way the guard’s skin glistens in the neon lights more disconcerting. Shiro looks over his shoulder to give Keith a look that says _I’ve hit a roadblock but I’m coming,_  and it’s then that he catches the sign.

Above the stall, splashed across a large, hovering electronic flashboard, neon letters read _KISS YOUR HEROES 5 GAC_.  It takes a moment for the words to process through Shiro’s head, and it doesn’t fully click in till he sees something large and purple and gelatinous approach Keith.

It drops five coins, and someone sitting on a chair beside the booth hits a button on a large remote. Something shimmers in front of Keith and—

Keith leans forward, scrunching his eyes shut and puckering his mouth. Shiro blinks and watches as Keith leans in and places a kiss against what Shiro presumes is the face of the gelatinous blob. He’s not quite sure.

“That’s my-” Shiro begins, stops as he watches the blob drift away and the shimmering light flash in front of Keith again. “That’s my— I-”

“I don’t care,” comes the reply, deep and coarse. “Back of the line.”

The guard doesn’t give Shiro another chance to follow their orders. They start dragging him by the scruff of the neck to the back of the line, which seems to be around twenty patrons deep.

This is how Shiro finds himself at the ass-end of a line for a kissing booth manned by the love of his life. He’s perplexed as to how exactly Keith got from Point A to Point B, but every time Shiro tries to step out of line, the guard materializes beside him and stares him down.

At least Keith’s line isn’t as long as it is for the other person he’s sharing the booth with. It’s a tall Galra with long, white hair that looks unnervingly like Lotor, if Lotor had bought his uniform from a local costume store. The hair sits slightly skewed, most likely a wig, and the claws of the man seem to be greatly exaggerated. The line for him is thrice as long as Keith’s and invokes some sort of weird volleying emotion within Shiro that swings between being glad he doesn’t have to wait as long and indignant that people aren’t showing Keith the appreciation he deserves.

He watches as one by one, Keith gingerly kisses each one of his patrons, some of them twice. Shiro’s glad Keith’s not in immediate trouble, but Keith shoots him a morose look filled with regret in between each customer. The guard follows Shiro up until he’s three people away from the front, and claps Shiro on the shoulder.

“No funny business,” the guard grunts before walking away, the glare they give Shiro lingering long after they leave.

Shiro finally reaches the front of the line, after what feels like a few excruciating hours. In reality, it can’t be more than a few moments.

“Keith-” Shiro starts, but Keith shakes his head and points to a smaller digital sign propped up in front of his booth. It reads _ONE KISS- 5 GAC, 2 KISSES- 8 GAC_ and Shiro blinks and frowns at the sign.

“Okay,” he says, and reaches forward for Keith. “Well-”

His hand makes contact with some sort of invisible barrier that sends a current through the entirety of Shiro’s body. He jolts at the shock and jumps a foot into the air, eyes widening, and someone clears their throat from beside him.

“You gotta pay, pal,” an oddly familiar looking alien says from beside him, and Shiro squints at him, the hairs on the back of his neck still standing up.

“Don’t I know you?” he asks, and the alien shrugs. They’re Unilu, Shiro can figure out that much. But there’s some sort of recognition about him that he can’t quite place.

“Everyone knows me,” the alien replies, waving a remote in Shiro’s face. “Eight GAC for a kiss.”

“It says five GAC for a kiss,” Shiro’s knee-jerk response comes, as if there’s not a more pressing problem at hand.

“You must not know how to read,” the Unilu says primly, jabbing his second left hand at the sign. Shiro looks back just in time to see the sign change from a red _5_ to _8_ and gives the Unilu an incredulous look. There’s a tapping sound, and Shiro sees Keith mouth out _“just give him the money”_ repeatedly till Shiro gives in and digs out some coins from his pocket. He deposits it into the little slot by the counter, and the Unilu gives a satisfied sound as he hits a button on his remote.

There’s a shimmer again, and Keith looks incredibly apologetic once it dissipates.

“Sorry,” Keith says sheepishly. “This is my fault.”

“Your fault?” Keith nods in return, and scratches the back of his head.

“I, uh,” Keith looks embarrassed now, ears turning red quickly. “They promised me unlimited tokens if I’d do this for an hour.”

Somehow, Shiro’s not surprised. Keith’s stubborn and determined when he wants to be, even if that means having to sacrifice himself to an intergalactic kissing booth so that he can win an atrocious Shiro doll. It doesn’t stop him from having approximately a hundred questions for Keith, starting with how he got here and ending with a why he thought this was a good idea to begin with.  For the sake of time, Shiro decides to go with the most efficient question.

“How much time do you have left?” he asks, and Keith leans back to look at something under his counter.

“Forty more minutes,” Keith replies. “But then we can go. I tried to tell you, but I can’t get any signal in this booth.”

“That’s very ominous,” Shiro frowns, because their communication tech is so strong, they’re perpetually just one crazy Pidge-induced experiment away from telepathy. The Unilu pointedly clears his throat from beside the booth.

“Kiss or I’m closing it,” he says, and before Shiro can say anything, he holds the remote up in a very threatening manner.

“Just kiss me,” Keith says, leaning forward. “I’ll be out in a bit anyways.”

Shiro’s got something to say, but it dies out quickly as Keith grabs him by the front of his jacket and pulls. It’s a brief kiss that edges on painful from how hard Keith brings them together, but when Shiro tries to draw away, he can feel Keith sticking to him. He parts his mouth just a little, just enough to ease up the pressure, but the kiss has no finesse. Still, it’s Keith, and Shiro raises his free hand to reach and card through Keith’s hair. He guides them into something softer with practiced ease, and hums into Keith’s mouth before he remembers where he is.

“We don’t need the extra tokens,” Shiro says against Keith’s lips, not quite letting go of him.

“I want to win you something nice though,” Keith replies, and Shiro risks it by swiping his tongue briefly over Keith’s bottom lip before finally breaking the kiss off.

“I have other plans for us,” Shiro murmurs, pushing a strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. 

“Yeah?” Keith’s voice has dipped into something lower, huskier now and god it’s just so _easy_ to forget where he is when he’s with Keith, so easy to forget what he is or should be doing.

There’s another loud clearing of a throat, and Shiro leans back to give the Unilu a glare.

“You’re holding up the line,” he says, and Keith leans forward in the booth to look at him.

“I still owe him a second kiss,” Keith says, and the Unilu narrows his eyes at them. He hits a button on the remote, and both Keith and Shiro startle back as there’s a loud buzzing sound. It’s a mistake to react, and Shiro swears as he sees the shimmer again.

“We don’t need those tokens any more,” Shiro tells the Unilu, forcing out as much politeness as years of intergalactic diplomacy have ingrained in him. “Could you please let him go?”

“A deal’s a deal,” the Unilu says, shrugging.

“We don’t need you to hold up your end anymore,” Shiro tries. “Just let him go.”

“Mm,” the Unilu taps a long, tapered finger against his beard, thinking for a moment. “No. Next!”

“Fine,” Shiro says, and shoves a few more coins into the slot. He waits, Keith waits, but there is no shimmer.

“One turn per person,” the Unilu says, voice bored. “If you want to kiss him again, you have to line up again.”

There’s a very rational part of Shiro that tells him that all he has to do is sit tight for forty minutes, and Keith is free. Forty minutes will probably allow him time to get some more substantial food than the gravity-defying cotton candy he’s still holding on to, and will allow him to maybe better plan what he wants to do next with Keith.

There’s also a part of Shiro that’s never evolved past its monkey stage. It tells him that his partner’s trapped behind a glass and should be extracted _now_. Shiro’s always blamed this part of him for his more irrational decisions, from before he had even looked towards the sky. Things have settled down now, but it hasn’t stopped him from sometimes acting like he never truly got a handle on his self control.

“Back of the line,” the Unilu barks, and that part of Shiro’s brain takes over as he narrows his eyes at the other. There’s one last strand of reasonable thinking in him that tries to convince him to reason and bargain with the Unilu man to release Keith early.

That strand vanishes like smoke into the air as soon as the Unilu gives him a raised eyebrow, along with a “Now he has to stay here for two hours, to make up for how much you’re annoying me.”

More often than not, Shiro acts in a sharp and controlled and intelligent manner. This by far will not be one of those times. Keith mouths something to Shiro but Shiro’s only half paying attention. He maintains his glare with the Unilu as he transfers the cotton candies to one hand, the hovering fluffy candies crashing before they start to orbit each other, and places his Altean hand against the invisible screen. A jolt goes through the arm, but the technology is a lot more advanced than whatever the booth has, and Shiro doesn’t feel it at all. Keith’s eyes go wide in tandem with the Unilu’s, but his has more mischief in them.

“I’m going to call the guard,” the Unilu warns, but he sounds slightly nervous now. Shiro looks over his shoulder and sees the guard grunting something to a gaggle of Arusians.

“Sure,” Shiro replies simply, and then punches through the invisible barrier. It crackles around him, sending sparks flying everywhere. The barrier fritzes and turns to a translucent pink, and Shiro retracts his hand from what’s now a gaping hole in the screen. The fake Lotor gives them a quick look that appears almost wistful before he turns around to kiss each face on a three-headed alien.

“Wow,” Keith says, and Shiro raises his hand in a fist again. They’ve for sure caught the guard’s attention by now, so he wastes no time in sending his hand barrelling through the screen, sending the entirety of it crumbling like dust. The Unilu has been stunned into silence, and it takes a lot out of Shiro to stop him from saying _I warned you_ like some petulant kid. Instead, he focuses on jail-breaking his boyfriend.

Perhaps this is not the most diplomatic thing to do, and Shiro’s sure someone is going to find out and yell at him for it. But such is the trajectory of their lives, and Keith moves as fast as he does, kicking up the counter to haul himself through the now empty frame of the booth. Shiro grabs him by the collar and helps him, and it’s only when Keith’s feet hit the ground on the other side of the booth that the full gravity of what he’s done hits him in one go.

“Hey!”  the guard yells out, and starts loping towards them a lot faster than Shiro would expect them to come.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Shiro mutters under his breath as the Unilu finally comes to his senses and starts squawking something. Shiro doesn’t hear it because Keith twines his fingers through Shiro’s and tugs.

“You’re fine,” Keith says, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes that says he’s a lot more delighted with the turn of events than he’s letting on. Shiro doesn’t have a chance to dwell on it because the guard’s thundering towards them quicker than anticipated. Both their fight-or-flight instincts kick in, and for once, Shiro’s extremely grateful that it’s their flight instincts that win over. They bolt, Keith leading the way as he snakes them through the crowd, and Shiro has to stop his laughter from ringing loud and clear through the festival crowd.

 

* * *

 

It takes them a good fifteen minutes to shake off the guard. They spend the first five ducking and weaving through attractions and games and booths and tents till Keith finds somewhere for them to sneak into while the guard is still hot on their heels. It’s a storage tent filled with boxes and crates, and they hide in there as they hear the guard storm around and loudly ask the crowd if anyone’s seen them.

It’s kind of funny. Enough to make Keith start snickering from where he’s crouched beside Shiro behind a stack of large crates. They’re meant to be hiding so for good measure Shiro tries to smother Keith’s laugh with a kiss. It goes just about as well as it could, though it’s not terribly proactive because Shiro finds himself incredibly distracted. By the time a startled Olkari walks in on them, Shiro’s long forgotten why they were hiding in the first place.

He does remember what he had planned for the two of them before they had gotten waylaid by the kissing booth so after a slew of apologies -and eternal gratefulness that no one has recognized them- he drags Keith towards the northern outskirts of the fairgrounds.  Only one gravity-defying cotton candy cone survived their grand escape so they split it, and hide their face behind the orbiting ball of fluff whenever they see someone who looks like they might recognize them.

They make it where Shiro needs to go with relatively less trouble and when Keith sees what Shiro has planned, and his eyes widen in both surprise and boyish delight. It takes Shiro absolutely no effort to ask Keith if he’s willing to go along with what Shiro has planned, and Keith barely waits for Shiro to finish his sentence before he agrees wholeheartedly.

“How’d you manage to get this?” Keith’s asking loudy a few minutes later as the wind whips around them.

 _This_ being an ancient hoverbike that Shiro’s requisitioned from the all-too-kind Galra that minded the hoverbike rentals. Technically, they’re only allowed to zoom around in a roped off area with the other families and couples puttering around and trying not to bump into each other. But Shiro might have flexed his status as a defender of the known universe just a little, and gave them enough money to make it worth their time so that he could convince the keeper to let him take one out for a real spin.

Shiro doesn’t respond— he just grins and closes the throttle, taking a sharp turn on the hoverbike as the festival recedes rapidly in the distance. The sky is dark and growing vivid with stars around them and even though he’s just taking them to a lookout, excitement bubbles up in Shiro as he feels the squeeze of Keith’s arms wrapped around him. Keith doesn’t need the grounding, having the balance of a cat, but Shiro knows he does it for the contact and welcomes it wholeheartedly.

He’s on a planet light-years away with the man he loves pressed up against him as they zip through a desert with ethereal pink dirt and rising indigo canyons. The topography looks like the neon lights from the festival have flooded out onto it, and even if Shiro’s seen something like this before, he hasn’t experienced it in such a carefree manner.

The three moons illuminate the ground and cool air rushes through Shiro’s hair. He pushes the hoverbike, increasing the speed steadily as they burn down a straight line, the ground rising up on each side. Shiro has put so much of his life into reaching for the sky, into being a shield, but he’s still not sure what he’s done to earn this moment. He revels in it and tries to stay as present as possible as he tears towards their destination.

Eventually they make it to the look-out that the Galra who had leant him the hoverbike had told him about. It’s far enough from the grounds that the celebration is just a hum of pink light in the distance. A few wispy clouds are scattered in the sky, emanating a soothing violet glow. The moons are as large as ever, and everything looks like it’s been pulled out of an archaic sci-fi painting. As Shiro brings the hoverbike to a halt at the edge of a cliff that overlooks the canyon, he hears Keith suck in a sharp breath.

“I’m not going to ever get used to this,” Keith says quietly from behind him, and Shiro’s hard pressed to disagree. Each new planet is a new, unmatched experience and he still can’t quite believe that this is his life. Shiro kills the engine and slides forward in his seat, riding up the leather so that he has enough room to swing a leg over and turn around, coming face to face with Keith.

“Hey,” Shiro says, and before he can reach forward to tug Keith into his space, Keith’s already sliding down the long seat of the hoverbike so that he can close the distance in between them.

“Hello,” Keith snakes his arms around Shiro’s waist, and Shiro rests a hand on one of Keith’s thighs. “This is nice.”

“Good,” Shiro replies, and leans in. Keith mirrors him and presses their foreheads together and they sit there in the cool breeze. “I never got that second kiss, by the way.”

“I think you got plenty,” Keith grumbles, but he’s already cupping Shiro’s face and pulling close. Shiro enjoys the feeling of Keith's calloused palms brushing across his cheeks as Keith leads them into something soft and sticky sweet and unrefined. Keith's never ironed out the wrinkles in his technique but it's fine, because that's what makes his kisses so dream-like to Shiro.

Shiro’s not in a rush to break them apart, but eventually they do. Keith envelopes him in a brief hug before letting go, and Shiro slides them off the bike. He lets Keith look out into the vast openness of the space while he digs around in his jacket, looking for the battered old Olkari cube he had taken with him before they had left Black. Keith walks towards the edge of the cliff and Shiro can tell by the way he’s holding himself that he too is trying his best to take this all in.

Last week, he and Lance had figured out how to upload Earth media onto the cubes. While most Olkari cubes can hold more data than Earth has music, this one barely works and can only hold two. The sound is rough and grainy like an antique radio but it’s part of the charm, part of why Shiro likes it so much. He sets it on the seat of the hoverbike, and taps the side.

Static blares for a second, loud enough for Keith to shoot a surprised look over his shoulder, but thankfully it fades out to a piano plucking out the opening notes. Shiro’s still squinting at the cube as Elvis starts to warble out something about wise men and fools, but once he knows for sure that it’s not going to crack and distort into something hellish like it had once before, he straightens up and dusts off his jacket.

“Come here,” Shiro says, holding out a hand. Keith pauses for a moment, staring at Shiro under the moonlight, but Shiro doesn’t find himself feeling embarrassed or silly. Instead he’s brimming with love for the man illuminated under of the soft light, love that threatens to spill over as Keith finally closes the distance.

Shiro smiles, small and private as they both loop arms around each other’s waists. Keith’s hand clasps over Shiro’s human one and he lets Shiro sweep them into a dance.

They’re not the best at dancing. Their friends have made fun of them countless times for it, and they don’t have any intention to learn how to do it properly. It’s part out of obstinance and part because Shiro doesn’t want to focus on anything but having Keith in his arms as they sway around. The dirt drags underneath them and they trip a little as the chorus joins in again.

Shiro realizes he can have more of this. The world, the galaxy, the known universe; they’re okay for now. Voltron has been delegated to doing supply runs and humanitarian work, both of which Shiro enjoys doing because he gets to do it with Keith. They have a nice life on Earth but they’re not tethered to it, not grounded in the way that the others are.

Their friends aren’t either; Hunk’s got an intergalactic reputation as a chef, Pidge and Matt love to planet hop before the Garrison gives them clearance, and Allura and Lance tag along. There’s no reason though that they can’t do this more often, do what their friends do and just flit from one interesting planet to another with no real intention behind it.

“What are you thinking about?” Keith murmurs the question, just as Louis Armstrong’s bass starts echoing around them in a tinny tone.

The Olkari cube crackles but holds strong, and the moonlight is bright enough to make the colour of Keith’s eyes look a vivid violet as he looks up at Shiro from half-lidded eyes. This is the man he gets to make a life with, and this is the life that they’ve made, a life that yawns wide and open around them like the stars. All of this is too much for Shiro to articulate.

“Let’s go away,” he says instead, and Keith blinks. “After we finish this supply run. Let’s go exploring.”

“We explore while we go on supply runs,” Keith points out, and he spins them around in a short circle.

“But we have to work,” Shiro retorts. “We’ve always had to work. I want to do things like this more often with you without worrying about staying on schedule.”

“What?” Keith says, pulling closer. “You want to backpack across the universe?”

“Yeah,” Shiro replies simply, giving half a shrug. “Why not?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, and suddenly Shiro finds himself on the receiving end of a dramatic dip. Keith’s face hovers above him, bright. _What a wonderful world indeed,_  Shiro thinks idly as he looks at him.

“You wanna honeymoon me without the burden of marriage, huh?” Keith asks, and Shiro laughs out loud at that.

“I wanna honeymoon you with the _joy_ of marriage,” Shiro corrects him dryly, reaching to flick Keith on the nose.

His words don’t register till half a second later; Keith hauls Shiro back up, wide-eyed. Shiro thinks Keith’s doing a double take, is going to ask Shiro if he’s serious, if he means it. And though he had said it spontaneously, there’s no doubt or hesitancy in the way Shiro feels. He’s thought about it on and off for a while, knows Keith wants it and it’s just been a matter of time till one of them asks. Shiro’s going to tell him yes he means it, with all his heart—

“You’re not allowed to take that back,” Keith says firmly instead, jumping past all the indecision.

“Why would I?” Shiro asks, as if it’s incredulous that Keith would ever think that. And it is because after everything, it’s impossible to think of a life where Keith and him aren’t in permanent orbit.

Keith smiles, soft and reserved in a way that reaches till his eyes. It’s one of his rarest, more intimate smiles and having been on the end of it more than once, Shiro knows what comes after it.

Yet it’ll never fail to take his breath away.

“I love you,” Keith whispers. It’s open, honest. Unrestrained in the way Keith is, unashamed to feel the way he does no matter how reticent he can be about verbalizing it.

Keith’s almost crushing him with how hold he holds onto Shiro, like he’s worried Shiro will float away if he lets go.  Shiro presses his lips against Keith’s forehead, murmurs into the thick dark hair that he loves him too. To the moon, to the stars, to all the galaxies and realities they’ve been to and to everything beyond that they’ve yet to chart. Keith buries his face into Shiro’s neck and Shiro rests his chin on top of Keith’s head. They move like that for a while and Shiro can’t remember ever being this content in his life.

“Happy Valentine’s,” Shiro murmurs quietly into the air as he closes his eyes as they continue to sway.

He thinks nothing of it; it’s just a throwaway line that rounds out the day. But Keith stops for a moment and uncoordinated, Shiro stumbles over his own fet again. “What?”

“It’s Valentine’s day?” Keith says, voice tinged with disbelief as he draws back to look at Shiro. Shiro nods, frowns. “You pulled rank on everyone to get us all out for Valentine’s?”

Ah. When Keith says it like that, it does seem a little irresponsible. It makes Shiro even more glad that he decided to do it.

“Maybe,” Shiro winks with some mischief, and Keith gives the same groan he does every time Shiro tries to wink. As if he doesn’t enjoy it.

“You should have told me earlier,” Keith says, but there’s no heat behind it.  Shiro raises his eyebrows. “I could have done something too.”

Shiro shakes his head, and kisses the tip of Keith’s nose.

“I really wanted to do something for you,” Shiro says earnestly. “I don’t get to take you out properly. Not as often as I’d like.”

Keith looks like he’s about to say something again, so Shiro decides to cut him off with a proper kiss. Keith still makes a valiant effort to speak, but it muffles and dies out against Shiro’s lips and soon, they forget what they had been talking about.

**Author's Note:**

> The two songs they dance to for the next 5 hours are Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis and What A Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong!!!
> 
> come hang out with me on my [blogē](http://phaltu.tumblr.com) or on my [tweeter](https://twitter.com/tagteamme) or on my [ fort of pillows ](https://pillowfort.io/phaltu)


End file.
